Priced to Sell
by FourthDixieChick
Summary: Giles, rebuilding the Watcher's Council, goes househunting with Andrew in tow. Short, oneshot.


For LudditeRobot, who requested "Giles and ghosts, like we were kinda sorta maybe promised"

All standard disclaimers apply – Joss owns all; all mistakes are mine

From the private journal of Rupert Giles, Chairman, New Watcher's Council.

I have learned many things since the Bringers blew up the old Council's headquarters, not the least of which is "don't put all your Watchers in one basket." As much as I hate computers and most things technological, the Internet, e-mail, cell-phones and most importantly, video-conferencing, have made it possible and practical for the New Council to have offices on every continent (our goal is to have a presence in every major city) and still have access to what remains of our research materials.

However, the one thing we are lacking is the actual real estate. I've spent the greater part of a year untangling the Council accounts and dealing with solicitors, barristers, and bankers. I'd rather deal with vampires and demons, quite frankly.

Capital is in short supply – several survivors of the Watchers killed by the Bringers entered into a class-action lawsuit against the New Council, severely depleting our funds. To no one's surprise, they were represented by Wolfram & Hart. As a result; the new homes, apartments, and office quarters we acquire must be in "low-rent areas," be fixer-uppers, or be properties that are otherwise "priced to sell."

It was Andrew, the bloody git, that actually came up with the idea. Granted, he had just watched a marathon of _The Amityville Horror_ and the _Poltergeist_ movies. "We should ask the real estate agent to search the listings for haunted houses – the owners would probably sell them really cheap to get out of there!" Sadly, circumstances force us to follow an "Andrew Plan." Dear God, it has come to this.

I stood there, in front of the third home of the day, accompanied by Andrew, and attempting to placate a—to use the technical term—wigged-out real estate agent. The property had been on the market for close to two years, with several reductions in the asking price. A spacious home – five bedrooms, 3 and a half baths, large, fenced-in yard – good God, I've become fluent in real estatese.

Sally Ritvo, our estate agent, struggled with the lock-box on the front door. "I don't know why this keeps happening! Every time we replace this, it just jams up again!" She flashed us a manic grin. "I think I've got it now." She had managed to remove the key, but the key itself didn't cooperate with the lock. The young woman fiddled with the lock, managed to turn the handle, but resorted to throwing her considerable weight into the door, and it finally opened, revealing to us a spacious living room, with only a few pieces of furniture – armchair, ottoman, and small table. It was quite fortunate that there wasn't much more furniture, as the pieces were rotating around the room at quite a high speed. As soon as we stepped into the living room, we felt a chill.

"Perhaps I should just wait on the porch," Ms. Ritvo chittered nervously. Before she could turn around and make her escape, the door slammed shut behind her. "Or I'll just stay here," she said. The poor thing was close to tears. She put on a brave face, though. The first house had minor boggart activity, and the second house we viewed had an irate poltergeist – both experiences had been quite unnerving for Ms. Ritvo. This house was clearly bedeviled by something far more serious, however.

Andrew, in addition to knowing certain demon rituals, is a sensitive. As soon as he stepped into the center of the living room – no easy feat considering the high-speed furniture display--Andrew's hair seemed to stand on end. Andrew's eyes took on a scarlet tinge, and he shouted, "This is my house! Get out of my fucking house you assholes!" His eyes then returned to normal, and he lowered himself to the floor.

Yes, definitely haunted. "Ms Ritvo, I'd like to make an offer," I said as flashed her my most reassuring smile. I began to make my way to the front door, dodging a small footstool on the way.

"Really?" She blurted out, then regained her composure. "Oh, how nice! On the first house, perhaps?" She asked. The prospect of making her commission clearly helped her disposition. I discretely cast a small spell to open the front door, and opened it, gesturing for Ms. Ritvo to exit first.

I turned back to the git. "Come along, Andrew. We've lots to do still." I followed the young lady to the porch. "All three houses, actually."

"So, you're into the weirdness? That's actually a plus for you?" Oh, yes, the promise of a commission did wonders for her temperament. Andrew joined us on the porch, but not before that wily footstool konked him in the head. This was turning out to be a very good day.

I returned my attention to the estate agent. "In a manner of speaking. Why do you ask?"

"Is there any chance you're looking for a large space? I mean really large? With more acres than you really need?"

"I'm intrigued – tell me more?"

Back in the sunlight, Ms. Ritvo smiled. "Well, there's an old mental hospital that's been on the market for over 25 years, but it's, well, haunted, and creepy – but you don't really seem put off by that!"

"No, my dear, not at all. We've got an exorcist on retainer, and several witches and other practioners of magic on our staff…"


End file.
